And In The Dark I Found You
by Bloody Hatter
Summary: There are dark forces in this world. Joseph Wilson knew this, had known this since childhood. He watched the world float by, disinterested but not uncaring, until one day it smashed in on him with the rip of teeth and the heavy, panting breath of something that isn't supposed to exist. Now he's thrown into the thick of something dark, and has to reach out to those he'd never expect
1. Chapter 1

Nothing soothes a violent mind like apathy. It calms the untroubled, but strangely not quite content, nerves with a splash of warm, metallic-scented blood or perhaps the satisfying crack of bone under an unyielding fist.

Joseph Wilson had known this well for most of his life. He knew it through his father, who regarded life in the simplest of terms; as a privilege and not a right. He knew this through his uncle; a shadowy figure with cold blue eyes that had kidnapped he and his older brother when they were too young to understand that 'relation' did not necessarily mean 'friend.' He knew this through his brother though he hoped he'd been wrong.

Joseph Wilson had known violence, in all of its forms, for most of his life. And, unlike the other members of his family, he saw what it for what it was and tried to turn his back on it. In the end, it would be the only thing he could cling to: he had tried to turn from the violence.

Joey disliked his cold little apartment. It was unpleasantly dim and dark, a hole in the wall he'd abhorred upon first sight. Its determination to have deep, murky shadows no matter how many cheap light fixture he bought would of been admirable, if it wasn't so damn annoying. If it wasn't almost rent free because he worked at the music store downstairs- Query's- he'd of turned it down. The owner of the little store, Mildred Query, was a decrepit old woman that cared little for her own shop, except to collect her cut at the end of every month. Crotchety and prone to rages, Ms. Query hadn't kept an employee for more than a few weeks in over three years. Joey prided himself on being the exception.

He'd worked at Query's for almost a year and lived above it eight months. They did not think much of each other, but a camaraderie hung between he and his employer that suited Joey just fine. He had enough friends.  
The lithe blond slouched in his chair and carded one hand through his curly mop of hair. He glanced towards his bathroom and debated whether or not he had time to shower before he was called down to work. The thought shattered as the shrill scream of Ms. Query's ringtone ripped through the silence, its abrasiveness a parallel to the woman herself. He answered, and the caller began to speak insistently.  
"Joseph, your hours are 8-3. feel free to close up," It wasn't Ms. Query, but her niece, Gwendolyn. She was a kind but single, middle-aged woman with short auburn her and a pleasantly plump frame. Gwen had never asked about Joey's muteness, but he'd often caught her gazing curiously at the scars on his throat. Their eyes would meet, and she'd smile embarrassedly and find some other thing to do at the back of the store until he got off.

Joey threw on a jacket, and began his trek down the frigid staircase, dark with stains that had to be older than him. When he entered the cramped music shop he was once again struck by its quaint charm. It mainly catered to string instruments but in the spirit of fairness a small wind-instrument display sat near the back that Joey hadn't seen touched in all the time he'd worked there. A fine layer of dust lay on the case and instruments- An oboe or two, some flutes, a few clarinets, and a solitary wooden piccolo.  
Joey glanced onto the still-dark, snow covered street as he unlocked the front door. A few cars had parked outside but his eyes were drawn to a black and red motorcycle parked directly across the street, hiding half in the shadow of the apartment building. It was smaller than most, built not for power but for speed. Joey turned from the door, the out-of-place cycle soon escaping his mind.  
He flipped on a few lights and adjusted some of the cellos that had slipped sideways during the night. By the time he slid behind the counter, he'd forgotten about the motorcycle. There was never much business right after Christmas, Gwen had told him. The presents were all bought, some returned, and the tiny music shop just off Jump's main drag was all but forgotten. It did nothing for them economically, but the long solitary hours surrounded by the instruments he loved did wonders for Joey's mood. Instruments were beautiful, even with out noise. They didn't judge, didn't ask questions, didn't get that wide eyed look when Joey answered that he'd been hurt, a long time ago.

He was so used to long customer-less hours that the soft bell tinkle when the door opened was akin to a cacophony. Joey glanced up, reaching on reflex for his notebook. Few customers that entered did not know of Joey's condition, and all they had were regulars.  
Whoever this was, however, he was no regular.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who reviewed, it makes my day when I see reviews. I own nothing

* * *

The man who entered was neither tall nor bulky, but there was something imposing that hung around him that seemed to draw all the air from the room with the effort of a casual glance into all four corners. His straight blond hair fell in front of cold blue eyes that soon focused on Joey with an intensity that made him squirm. He had sharp, but not unhandsome, features and a thin, cruel mouth that slid into a smile as soon as he saw Joey.  
"Hello," greeted the man. His voice rumbled low and husky and reminded Joey a little of Nightwing's. Joey scribbled furiously upon his notebook.  
'Hello' he wrote, 'I'm Joseph. How may I help you?' The man hummed as he read. He glanced up, curiosity swimming in the icy depths of his eyes.  
"I do know sign language, if that helps at all," he said. Joey dropped his notebook back on the counter, surprised. Not many people bothered to learn ASL.  
'It does,' he signed, 'How may I help you?'

Something stunk about this young man, something he could only define as a semi-tangible wrongness. He looked only a few years older than Joey himself, though his shoulders stood straight with what could only be military training. The man smiled again.  
"I got lost," he ran an appraising eye over the shop, "And I figured I'd look in. You can't get much business here, so far from the main drag."

No uncertainty hung in his eyes when he glanced back to Joey for his answer, and it almost seemed like he was daring Joseph to contradict him. Joseph didn't believe him for a moment. Men like this, men who carried such authority in not only their tone but in their physical form, did not get lost. Their world had no hidden corners.  
'People that want us find out where we are,' he answered vaguely. He'd meant it as something like a dismissal, but a strange smirk that didn't quite convey humor flickered over the mans' lips.  
"Not the best marketing technique I've ever heard," he joked. Despite himself, Joey smiled along.

Something changed instantly in the man, quick as a light turning on. For just a second, his eyes were wide in shock as he stared at Joey and his mouth dropped slightly open. As soon as he'd arrived, he was gone with a flourish of his back trench coat and a scuff of his Doc Martins. Joey watched him go, unsurprised to see him throw one long leg over the black and red motorcycle. All the air slipped from the room as he zoomed away, as though it was following him down the street.  
Inside Joey, something jerked violently. It wouldn't be until later when he was lying in bed, alone, that he recognized the feeling for what it was.

The girl smiled at him, equal parts want and amusement. Her short dark hair fell in unruly curtains to frame her thin, pale face. Her eyes rippled as twin pools of desire, pupils blown wide so he could only see a thin circle of blue. Her gentle curves were encased by a black tank top and soft blue pajama shorts.  
"Joey," she sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees to cup her elbows. "Come back to bed." There were reasons not to, namely the sizzling of lunch in the next room, but Joey disregarded them in favor of slipping in between the covers to curl around the girls slim frame.  
'Rachel' he signed as he she laid down and tucked her head underneath his chin. 'Do the Titans need you today?" Cinnamon-scented hair shuffled softly against his chin as she shook her head. Their bodies gravitated closer together and she hitched her leg around his waist with a pleasure sigh that was only just this side of a moan.  
'Because' he continued, trailing one hand up her leg, 'I was thinking dinner.'


	3. Chapter 3

AN Yay! I finally got a beta, XxPhoenix FlightxX, who seems to know more about puntuation than I do, which is buckets of awesome. So, thanks to her:) Any issues are my own. Sorry this took so long, I totally rewrote the rest of the story. Thanks for waiting! Once again, I own nothing

* * *

When the moon peaked through the clouds, it did so coyly, teasing the small woods with its pale light. A creature arched in the darkness. Not towards the light but away into the comfort of shadows. Black lips, cracked and torn with age, peeled back to reveal two rows of hypodermicesque fangs, stained everlastingly dark. Through the eerie patches of reflected light came a plaintive little noise. It begged for mercy in vain. No such thing could come from the merciless.  
The creature closed its cloudy blue eyes with a gesture that could only be an acknowledgement of defeat. It laid its disjointed head upon its scarred paws, opening its eyes to watch as, out of the semi-darkness, another creature began to creep towards it. An emotion brimmed in its vicious gaze. It could have been remorse, though there was no way for it to tell. It hadn't acknowledged its emotions in so long, that the one niggling in the back of its head felt unfamiliar, unpleasant.  
Its fate was its own fault. Cruel eyes closed once more as, in the darkness, a beast struck out against its master.

She moved with all the fluid grace of a sunbeam through glistening water as she shone. His fingers trembled on her slowly shifting hips, each press of his hands on her damp skin was like a whispered prayer. In the darkness their bodies slid and stuck, but no darkness could exist with such an angel, save the shallow shadows of sweat-soaked skin at the base of her throat. Joey reached up to kiss at them, and she shifted a little in his lap. They paused to hold each other, shivering. Smiling a little to himself, Joey leaned back against the headboard as Raven's movements slowed into little more than a rock.  
Her long fingers slid to his hair and clenched there tightly. Water dripped from her long hair but she managed a strained giggle.  
"What're you smilin' at?" her coarse, pleasure choked voice shot through him and, for a moment, he buried his face in the warmth of her chest. Her heart pounded against his cheek.

Mr. Winter frowned at the boy, who was perched on his doorstep with all the lazy casualness of someone who belonged there, which he most certainly did not. Did he? No, the old man assured himself while pulling the heavy door to his apartment building closed behind him, he'd have noticed such a boy before. Long, grimy, shiny black hair hung in unkempt curls to brush the shoulders of his stained gray tee-shirt. A smell reached his nose, one of shit and some strange, metallic tang he couldn't quite place, and it took only a moment to realize it came from the boy himself. The boy- at least, he assumed it was a boy, who could really tell, the way the urchin carried itself- was crouched with his hands (disjointed, he noticed with a flash of disgust, with long, cracked yellow nails that ended in jagged edges) wrapped around his knees. His head was tilted up, towards the building across the street, some little music shop with an apartment above it where only one light shone.  
Mr. Winter frowned, one hand curling resolutely around the tin of cat food in his left hand and the other around the can opened. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to feed the strays, but he'd done it the entire time he'd lived in Jump, twenty-eight years this October, and he was far too old now to change his habits.  
"Mister should not stare."  
He started at the voice, if it could be called a voice at all. It hissed, high and feminine and reminded him with sickening clarity his days in the army, and the last whispers of man as they died. This was eerily like that. Being stupid, Mr. Winters chided himself, just a punk kid. Probably killing time before he has to go home to his mother. The thought that this youth had a mother, however, didn't seem all that likely.  
"Mister is being rude, staring at me in such a way," did he detect….humor in that cold voice? The boy turned half towards him. His skin was like old leather, brown and dark and near rotting. His lips, cracked and peeling like the rest of him, were an unnaturally red. Almost black, almost-  
"What would his wife think?"  
Now that was just too far! This was his doorstop, and the strange boy with dirt caked hair and a voice like a wraith had no right to be here. Mr. Winters stole himself up to tell the little shit to move along before he called the police. He had no right, god damn it! Then the boy turned completely around and Mr. Winters finally got a proper look into his eyes.  
He would have screamed, but it caught in his throat and came out as a childish whimper.  
"Like...dying" he managed, in a voice so much like the boys he wondered, stupidly, if maybe it had come from him. The boy smiled.  
Now, that was just too many teeth.


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, here's the next the next chapter. Sorry for the time lapse, I've had a lot going on. The next few chapters are already written out, so that shouldn't take too long. Thanks again to XxPhoenix FlightxX for beta-ing! I own nothing.

* * *

"Little tree,little silent Christmas tree. You are so little, you are more like a flower."  
Darin stood poised in the deep snow up to his knees, still and silent as a porcelain angel. A dark, threadbare pea coat strained over his shoulders; He'd outgrown it two winters before. The once shiny black buttons were now dull and scratched, and the sleeves hardly came to his forearm. He wore no mittens, so his arms were an angry wind-bitten red. Half the young boys face was obscured by a faded green scarf that had been carefully tied in a knot at the base of his neck, and a pale pink stocking cap with the last remnants of a bauble was perched atop sandy blonde hair. Underneath this mismatched ensemble, two eyes gleamed like pieces of silver, fixed upon a tiny tree a few meters away.  
It was pathetic. Half-dead, so small he was surprised it lived at all. It bent near to the ground with the meekest whisper of a breeze, shuddering like a diseased dog. The needles were a sickly, pus green.  
He loved it immediately.  
'Who found you in the green forest, and were you very sorry to come away?"  
'No,' thought Darin with an inward snort and a glance at the surrounding trees, none of which failed to tickle the sky, 'I expect it's jealous.' His silver-drop eyes focused back on the speaker; The angel. Long blond hair flowed behind the beauty of her face, the curve of her slim shoulders. Her skin, too, was red and slashed by the cruel wind. Darins' lips tingled with the urge to kiss her cheeks and swan-like neck, make the pain go away. When she turned to look at him, tears from the cold sparkled in her eyes.  
'Oceans aren't that blue,' Darin mused, crinkling his nose. She brushed them away, her hands breaking out in small white dots, and gave him one of her free and easy smiles. To look at that smile was to be in spring, and if the little boy focused only on it, he could hear birds chirping above them.  
'Well Darin,' she asked, in a voice that croaked and choked, but sounded no less beautiful for it, 'You like this one?' Darin nodded once, trudging to her side through the snow. Even without touching he could feel the heat emanating from her in soft, comforting waves. One of her cold stiff hands reached to brush a strand of straw straight blond hair out of his eyes and she laid her palm on his forehead. It stung but he leaned into it.  
"Then let's get it."  
Unearthing the sickly sapling was surprisingly hard work. First they cleared the snow from around its soggy and peeling base. Then they picked at the frozen ground, their grunts of pain mingling in the stale air.  
"Damn thing just doesn't wanna come," hissed the angel through gritted teeth. Her beautiful face was screwed up in uncharacteristic frustration.  
"We'll get it," Darin assured, encouraging though the snow had long since sunk into the knees of his jeans. He shifted uncomfortably.  
"Oh baby..." his companion cooed, shame filling her ocean eyes, " I shouldn't of dragged you out here. You'll catch a cold."  
"No," Darin shook his head emphatically. "I want it." He _did_ want it, but not as much as he wanted that flame in her eyes, now distinguished by self-loathing, to rekindle. His small knuckles rubbed against hers.  
_I'm here with you. _


	5. Chapter 5

Ok, I absolutely want to thank xxPhoenix Fllightxx for her help this chapter, because without her help a lot of parts of this would of been really confusing. Thanks so much for reading, I don't own anything, and reviews are More Than Appreciated.

* * *

"Did you know him?"

Joey frowned, clenching his long-fingered hands, swollen from years of guitar playing on the glossy black counter before sun slunk in through the door, casting small shadows throughout the almost deserted music store. Joey had been alone for most of the day, but around noon the tinkle of a bell had signified a customer. He'd glanced up, and jolted. The blond man, the one who sucked oxygen from the air, had stared back at him, and then jerked his chin in greeting. He looked much the same, of course, it had been less than a week, though this time he was wearing a bomber jacket, of all things.

"The guy they found this morning, did you know him?" Joey wasn't certain about this man's tone- Not quite sympathetic, more curious and unfeeling.

He didn't say, 'I found him,' because it wasn't quite true. The man's wife had found him first. He'd heard - not screaming. It was too high, too pained too heart-wrenchingly broken to be screaming- and rushed outside. The early morning air had bit at his bare shoulders as he rushed across the street, to the wailing, kneeling figure.

What he saw when he got there made him choke. It looked like ground up meat, with strips of torn up fabric thrown in. A trail of bone chunks and gristle lead three feet away from the body, to Mr. Winter's head. The only visibly human part of the ghastly ensemble; Mr. Winter's one remaining eye was wide and dark with congealing blood. Mrs. Winter hade screeched, and made to grab for it, but Joey wrapped his arms around her chest. She fought him wildly, scrambling and screeching that primal scream, desperate to get to her husband. At seventy, or eighty, she struggled with the vitality of someone less than half her age. Her hands were stained with the corpse's cooled blood.

Joey said none of this to Mr. Motorcyle though a deep part of him longed to tell someone, anyone. He looked up from the counter to the cyclist who was, as always, staring at Joey with strangely perceptive eyes.

'That's...blue,' Joey thought stupidly. Blue wasn't what he meant. He'd meant familiar.

* * *

"You knew him? Nightwing asked, frowning.

_'He's got girl lips_,' the thought made Joey smirk without thinking. This, he realized at Nightwing's horrified expression, was very much the wrong thing to do, but he kept the expression. He needed the distraction. Nightwing's lips could easily have been a woman's, a Maxim dick-sucker's, even.

Not well, he signed, before picking up the yogurt he'd been considering. He sniffed it, and then thanked the deities (not for the first time) that he chose not to stay at Titans Tower permanantly. But yeah. A clump that was either mold or a blueberry floated to the yogurt's surface while he stirred it. He poked at it disdainfully. Nightwing bit at his fingernail in thought, an old habit. His eyes sharpened, hyper-focused, making him look just like-

Joey snorted the thought away and covered it up by tossing his yogurt in the nearby garbage can.

You need to restock your fridge, brother, your foods getting pretty ripe, he commented, glancing past his friend to the ostentatious bay windows. Jump had just begun its slow fade into night, and the streetlights sparkled at him. Of all the cities Joey had ever been to Jump was the most…not pretty… Innocent. As if it was just a close-knit town that had grown bigger on accident. People smiled at each other on street corners, and that was normal here. As he stood there, thoughts and images began to leak back into his mind.

_Mr. Winters had looked like a disregarded marionette, all twisted and broken. Crooked where he should of been straight, with his insides all falling out._ Joey shook his head. His jaw had been twisted half off. He shook it harder. _His left eye socket was empty and gashed, his left eye was blown wide with fear, wide and gaping like the hole in his ch-_

"Jericho?" Joey turned sharply to his friend, forcing his features back into something he hoped was impassive. Nightwing was frowning at him, but Nightwing was always frowning. This was different: Equal parts concern and suspicion. Joey's heart rebelled at this, furious, but the cooler side of him consoled it. Nightwing, though unjustified in his ever-suspicious air around Joey, could hardly be blamed for a little ill-will.

"Are you alright, man?" Nightwing grasped Joey's upper arm.

Yes, Joey signed. 'Only saw my neighbors' insides…' They'd been a ghastly pink-red, almost like bubblegum. Bile threatened to rise up his throat. He swallowed it down, then let out a horrified, silent giggle.

* * *

Nightwing loved Jump. Not in the way Batman cared for Gotham (he couldn't bring himself to call that love) but in the way he imagined Superman felt about Metropolis. Like a kindly, but strict, parent. He liked to sit atop the tallest buildings, usually Wayne Tech (hell, he's allowed a little nostalgia) and watch as his citizens interacted. They didn't do that in Gotham- didn't even really acknowledge each other, even. They just brushed past one another. If Gothamites ever really touched, it wasn't lightly. They crashed into each other, desperate to prove with their destruction that they were alive, that they even existed.

Jump people, on the other hand, were perfectly content to touch each other lightly, offer a small smile to strangers. They didn't fear the streets they trod upon. Granted, Jump was no Metropolis. People there... Maybe it was just how he grew up, but he felt too exposed there. They were too open. Jump slipped in somewhere in between, and Nightwing liked that.

"Hey, Kid."

Nightwing did not yelp, thank you very much. He merely gave an utterly manly exclamation of… readiness, and spun quickly on the spot. Red X's mask twitched.

He was smiling underneath.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm really slow at posting, sorry, if people are still reading this. XxPhoenix FlightxX wants to say she's sorry too, but I'm saying it's no issue ;). I own nothing, and reviews are, as always, love.

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To his credit, Nightwing recovered from his surprise quickly. He snatched for his bo staff, a snarl curling over his lips.  
"What do you want, X?" he demanded.  
With a flick of his wrist the bo staff extended and he held it at his side, its weight comforting against his palms. The thief raised his hands in submission.  
"Gimme a minute before you jump down my throat, kid. I like the new suit, by the way. The name, though; Nightwing?"  
"Hey!" It's a little, stupid thing but Dick liked his new name. "Superman gave me this name!" As son as he said the words he wanted them back. It hung between them in the frigid night air; Such a ridiculously childish thing to say.

Red-X waved it away with a flick of his gloved hand. He crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing for long enough for Nightwing to waver.  
"Do you have-"  
"D'you hear about the geezer that got mauled?"  
The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that Nightwing answered before he could think about it.  
"Yeah," he snapped.  
"What're you doing about it?"  
"We-"  
"Anything?"  
'_He's insulting me,'_ Nightwing thought, '_Insulting **me**.'  
_And Nightwing didn't get into this hero business to defend himself to criminals.  
"Yes, we, of course we are- We are!" Nightwing always prided himself on eloquence in the face of adversity. "Someone _died_, not that that would mean anything to someone like you!"  
"Don't waste your breath, bird boy, I'm not here for one of your pissing contests," Red-X reached down and Nightwing started, raising his bo.  
_Click.  
Snap.  
_Red-X's utility belt skittered to a stop against Dicks' foot and lay there rather pointlessly. He stared at it, slack-jawed and dumb. _What?_  
"There," Red-X's smart-ass tone disappeared, giving way to something Nightwing had never expected to hear: Worried. "I'm unarmed, you've got that staff and whatever goodies you packed away in your belt. Can we talk?" Red -X was morally deficient, narcissistic, and worst of all, a thief. But Dick closed his bo staff and leaned back.  
"What do you wanna talk about?"

"What d'you think killed the man?" Red-X asked.  
"I don't know," Nightwing's brow furrowed, "Dog, maybe but-"  
"You're not a retard, don't act like one."  
"Let me finish, then!" They glared at each other as well as two people that can't see each other's eyes can.  
"What do you think it was, then?" Nightwing_ didn't _sneer. He'd grown far too mature for that. It was merely a glare with a lip-curl added for emphasis. Because that's _different.  
_"Lycanthrope?" For the first time in a _very _long time, Dick was shocked into silence. _Is-Has he lost it? _Red's a criminal, but Dick had always gotten the impression that he was more grounded in reality than the regular yahoo's that ran around in their underwear.  
"A lycanthrope is-" Red began.  
"I know it's a werewolf!" snarled Dick. He put up with a lot of shit in his daily life, but being talked down to by a fucking _**loony**_, he would not take.  
"Very good, bird boy. Now tell me- What do you think?"  
"They're not real, asshole!" He was mature. **Mature. **But Red-X was old, raw territory and he could be forgiven for a little juvenile behavior.

"Tell me," Red-X's voice was just reasonable enough for Nightwing to want to punch him. He nudged at the utility belt at his feet and debated kicking it over the side of the building, just to see what the other man would do, "What's waiting in your bed right now? A fuckin' eight foot tall alien. Who do you live with and work with every day? A green skinned teenager that turns into animals. You can't tell me it's that much of a stretch."

He had a point. **Damn** him, but he did. But, Dick's mind argued, Kory and Logan are, and have been proven to be, real. Werewolves are storybook villains born of both a fear of animals and a fear of the dark side of human nature. They're _imaginary_, and Red is crazy. Logical answers. Easy answers.

So tempting.

"Have you heard of them before?" Nightwing forced himself to ask, kicking Red X's utility belt back to him.  
"Maybe," Red reaffixed it around his waist, "I gotta go, kid, be in touch." And with a mechanical _fzz-_ing sound, he left.

* * *

Kory wasn't waiting in Dick's bed when he returned, but the light was on in his bathroom and he could hear the quick pattering of water and, just under that, Kory's humming. He could join her; Wrap himself in her arms and forget Red's words in the soft, nubile warmth of her skin.  
Werewolves.  
They're not real.  
They're **_not._ **

The bed creaked as Nightwing flopped back on it. _I'll call Bruce in the morning, _he thought. It'd be awkward and cold as always, but if there's anything to know, Bruce'll tell him. The water pipes creaked to a stop and he heard Kory's humming more clearly and the soft pitter-patter of water on the tiled floor as she exits the shower. Maybe he should pretend to be asleep. Childish, but better than seeing the concern in her inhumanly green eyes.

Too late. Kory exited the bathroom. Her face broke into a welcoming smile at the sight of him.  
"Richard!" she sang, "I did not expect you back for hours!" Kory is always a welcoming sight, but tonight she's nothing short of radiant. Long red hair peeked sweetly out of the towel wrapped around her head.  
"Nothing was happening," Richard shrugged, "I could go out again later."  
"No," Kory slid up to his side, so quickly she must of flown. He breathed in deep.  
"You smell like vanilla," he murmured into her shoulder.  
"New shampoo," a smile slid into her voice as she wrapped her arms around him and he gave into her comfort, "You like?"  
"Makes me wanna eat you up," he grunted, only barely awake.  
She giggled.  
"I'll have to keep it, then."

* * *

Nightwing was the name of a Krypton superhero. Superman told Dick Grayson about him, and he liked the idea, so he took the name.


End file.
